Look It Up
by the cat and the canary
Summary: A set of drabbles/one shots/whatever you want to call them written from words I choose at random from a dictionary. Horace/Will will be a consistent pairing but others will be featured as well.
1. Lightning

Alright, so this is something I've decided to try. I open my dictionary to a random page, put my finger down and whatever word I land on, I'll write a drabble based off of it. These won't be very long, more often than not less than 500 words and really it'll be something to keep me writing and (hopefully) keep the dreaded Writer's Block at bay. So, anywho, have a nice day and enjoy. Also, I know this isn't clear, but the you is suppose to be Horace. For whatever reason I wrote it in second person. I'm too lazy to change/rewrite it now.

* * *

Touching him, it always felt like metaphorical lighting was dancing across your skin, like the actual lighted flecks of energy were jumping between your bodies and pushing over the edge already heightened senses.

And you like the feeling of it and even though it sounds poetic and you normally aren't the poetic type, you feel it is _j__ust so Will_. He was bright and quick and bold and stunning and left you feeling dazed after every encounter like the white flash of lighting on a dark night.

It was nothing short of addicting.


	2. The Motorist

"Al-Alyss," Will stammered nervously, clutching the side of the motor car as it trundled along the dirt lane at a speed that had them nearly bouncing out of the vehicle. "Per-perhaps you should slow down a little."

"Oh, come off it, _William,_" she said and Will saw her roll her eyes behind her dusty goggles as she jerked the steering wheel to accommodate the bumps in the make shift road. "It's not as if we'll encounter anyone else out here."

"That may be so," he replied, eyes flicking nervously from the path to Alyss and back again. "But there _are_ animals out here. Mind the squirrel!" At his shout Alyss swerved to avoid the suicidal creature, nearly losing her hat in the suddenness of the moment—it was a miracle it had managed to stay put in the first place. Her companion made a noise of distress and looked back at the unharmed and oblivious animal.

Again she rolled her eyes. "Has anyone ever told you you worry too much?"

"I wouldn't worry so much if you didn't drive so recklessly!"

"I wouldn't be driving if you hadn't relinquished the position at my request!"

Will opened his mouth to retort, but shut it quickly, flushing in exasperation.

Next time it would be _Horace's_ turn to take her for a drive.

* * *

I landed on motorist this time. Actually, first I landed on armory and didn't think I'd get much good from that, so I went for a different work.

So, I doubt any one really cares, but I want to talk about it anyway. I recently got stitches right in the pad of my right pinkie finger (the VERY SHARP CORNERED METAL whiteboard hanging in my locker decided to attack me), so now every time I type I have to consciously go for the P's and colons and quotations and shifts and enters with my ring finger or else the keys hit right on the stitches and hurt like many, many bad words. This is my first time with stitches and I have realized in the week I've had them that they are a very inconvenient nusiance.


	3. Capsule

Grumbling incoherently to herself, she climbed up the pull down ladder to the attic, sent in search of some long forgotten Christmas relic her mother suddenly wanted to put on display.

"Mom! What does the box look like?" she yelled down.

"It should green!" came the slightly muffled reply.

"Green . . . green . . . green," she muttered intermittently to herself as she sifted through the left over moving boxes from forever ago and dusty Easter decorations in search of the box.

Finally, between a box of clothes from the eighties she couldn't believe her parents had even considered wearing and a tattered Swiss flag, she found an old wooden trunk painted a horrid shade of green. Hoping her search was finally over, she undid the latch and popped open the lid, but the box only contained a few seemingly miscellaneous items, a couple of books, a few photographs, etc., like a memory box or time capsule. She sighed in disappointment and sat back on her heels, reaching for a photo, her curiosity piqued despite herself.

The photo was an old Polaroid of three teenagers, two boys and a girl. The boy in the middle was shorter than either of his friends and grinned happily at the cameraman. The big hulk of a boy next to him had a beefy arm slung across his shoulders, leaning on him playfully and wearing a cheesy grin. On his other side was a pretty girl with long blonde hair. Just as the photo had been snapped, she had leaned down to kiss his cheek, her hand finding his in a slightly blurred and innocent touch. The names Horace, Will and Alyss were scrawled underneath.

"Sarah?" came her mother's voice, pulling her from her study of the memory. "Did you find it?"

"Hold on!" she called back, tossing the photo back in the trunk and pushing other boxes and other objects out of the way with her foot, she dragged the chest out of the mess and toward the ladder.

Poking her head over the opening, she saw he mother waiting at the bottom of the ladder. "I didn't find it," she told her and started down the ladder, dragging the trunk with her. "But I found this cool time capsule thing." Her mother helped her down and they sat in the hallway, looking through the trunk.

"This must have been left over from the previous owners," her mother finally concluded. "I don't recognize any of this."

"But it definitely all belongs to this Will Treaty guy, his name is all over this stuff," Sarah offered, digging out a book on Medieval weaponry. Her mother just shrugged and stood, disinterested.

"Well, I guess its yours now. Maybe you can find out who this _mysterious_ Will Treaty is," she said with a smile.

"Yeah," Sarah said softly with a nod, looking at the photo again. she like the sound of that. _Finding Will Treaty._

* * *

So, I'm not so satisfied with this one. I like the length, but the content not so much. I thought about ending it after she reads the names on the photo, but wrote on instead. Feel free to criticize this one (actually, feel free to criticize anything I write; constructive criticism and suggestions are very welcome).


	4. The Cross

He wasn't exactly religious, but it was times like these when he reached under the collar of his shirt to squeeze the tarnished metal cross left to him by a long lost parent for reassurance that it felt like he should be. Times where it was nigh on impossible he would survive without divine intervention. Times like now, were he was about to ride out and face Morgarath, the consistent threat to an otherwise peaceful kingdom. The threat that had resided just above them in the Mountains of Rain and Night, hiding and biding his time like a viper, patient and ready to strike when its presence is forgotten and the unwary hand reaches unknowingly into its nest.

Though now he couldn't very well reach the cross due to his armour, just the feel of the object against the skin next to his heart was a comfort.

With final resolve and a deep breath. he lowered his visor and spurred his mount forward to meet an enemy he couldn't possibly survive

* * *

So, this one feels rather deep, but that might be because it rather reflects my own conflicting emotions about religion.


	5. Primrose

She crouched along the side of the road, looking ahead as Horace continued on without her with the horses to the little ranger's cottage, visible now that they had rounded that last bend. She and her warrior friend had decided to take a short holiday to visit Will; it had been too long since the three had had their last adventure together. They had arrived at last by the full moon,.

Alyss returned her attention to the little patch of yellow blossoms she had stopped to investigate, the pale color made starker by the moonlight. Primroses. Also called primula, or first rose. She found it rather fitting to find them just meters from Will's door, after all they did signify first love.

She glanced toward the cottage again to see that Will had come out to greet Horace, the two embracing in the way men did, with light spilling out the door around them. As they started to talk, the young ranger's laugh carried down the road for her to hear.

Looking back at the flowers, she ignored her companions momentarily and thought of the primrose's second meaning. _I can't live with out you. _She scoffed how how desperate it sounded, preferring the more romantic interpretation _I am yours forever_. For a moment, she considered picking a small bouquet of them for Will, thinking of past meaningful glances and lingering touches as she glanced back at the two young men with the brief thought that the ranger wouldn't even know what they meant.

What she saw shocked her.

Horace and Will were standing near the stable, almost out of her line site, and they were standing close, closer than the small bubble permitted to friends. They were sharing lover's space, with Horace's head bent down to whisper something in Will's ear and Will's head cocked slightly toward Horace's, making the scene that much more intimate. With a flare of jealousy and an angry flush to her cheeks, Alyss quickly looked away, her eyes landing back on the primrose.

And she realized her mistake.

This was evening primrose, a flower that only bloomed at night. The meaning changed entirely.

_Inconsistent._

With an anger she wanted to direct at Will for the mixed signals, she stood and stalked toward the cottage, watching from her peripherals as the ranger and warrior quickly stepped apart at her approach. Will greeted her with a bright smile and she realized she couldn't be mad at him. Her anger branched off and rerouted itself toward Horace and back at her self.

Why did it have to be Will that she loved?

* * *

I landed on polyanthus, which is any of various primroses, or a narcissus. I just stuck with the primrose for this one, but I might write for narcissus as well.


	6. Lasso

"Hey, Will!" he heard Jenny exclaim from somewhere to his left. "Look!" With raised eyebrows he turned to look at his friend, smiling at the cowboy boots, fringed leather jacket, gun holster and worn cowboy hat the girl had put on. "How do I look?" she asked, pretending to pull a revolver from the holster.

"Like a real sharpshooter," Will joked with a chuckle. He returned to looking through the racks of cowboy hats and bolo ties as Jenny moved off, calling for Alyss.

Will, Horace, Jenny and Alyss had been on their way to visit Halt and Pauline in Redmont, a three hour drive from Araluen college were all four attended school, for spring break when they happened upon a tourist stand where one could get their picture taken in period clothing. Horace and Jenny had practically jumped out of the car, laughing and joking and running to see what ridiculous things they could find.

Speaking of Horace, Will wondered where the other was. Not a minute ago he had been able to hear him laugh loudly in triumph. While he could hear Jenny and Alyss talking and laughing, he heard nothing of the young man.

Then suddenly a circle of rope fell over his head and caught on his shoulder. A yell of triumph sounded from behind him and he turned to find Horace there, holding the tail end of a lasso and grinning widely as Will shot him a questioning look.

"Now I can say I 'roped' you in with my natural charms," the larger male explained with a cheesy grin. Will just rolled his eyes.

"That was lame and you know it."

Horace just shrugged and pulled Will toward him with the lasso, stepping forward to meet him halfway.

"I know," he responded, and their lips met in chaste and clumsy kiss.

* * *

Okay, so I apologize to anyone who is actually keeping up with this for not posting anything since before Christmas. The holidays were crazy busy, work has been crazy busy, my cat died, school has been crazy with all the homework, projects, essays and books we have to read and the counselors that keep pushing the ACT and college and scholarship applications on any of us seniors that pass their door. But the biggest reason is because my phone (which I use to post because I don't have internet; wonderful thing, technology) and my computer suddenly decided they hated each other and so my computer refused to recognized my phone as a working device. So anyway, here's this little thing and enjoy.


	7. Fear

Fear was not an emotion he was accustomed to and one he wished to never feel again.

When he had heard of Will's capture, for the first time in many years, fear had overwhelmed him. It had pushed out rational thought as well as his sense of strategy and duty to his king. All he had wanted to do was take Abelard and ride the rescue of his foolishly brave and damn-too-intelligent-for-his-own-good apprentice.

But thanks to friends like Baron Arald and Battlemaster Rodney, he had done just the opposite. He had been force to sit and wait for events to occur, rather than set them into motion himself. Which normally wouldn't have been a problem, for as a king's ranger, he was fairly accustomed to waiting of the beaten path for an order or hiding in the shadows to collect needed information and take care of unneeded people.

This was different. This was torturous, not knowing what was happening to his apprentice at the hands of Morgarath's troops or if he was even still alive.

And now, though the threat of Morgarath was gone, Will was still out if his reach, taken across the Storm White to Scandia, a place where he would die before arriving or die a slave before the year was out.

And all Halt could do now was fall to his knees in the sand, cursing at the top of his voice and vowing he would find his lost apprentice and bring him home alive.

No matter the cost.

* * *

And here is another one for all you Halt fans out there. I like Halt quite a bit myself, I especially love his gruff manner and his attitude toward everything. The subject was fear this time and I figured Halt's feelings on Will's capture at the bridge would be a good thing to write about.


	8. Past Tense

"Hey, Cassandra." The quiet voice caught her attention and she turned to the open door to find her (wonderful) boyfriend, Horace, standing there, an uncharacteristic frown on his face. "Can we talk a minute?" He shifted his weight from one foot to the other as if uncomfortable.

"Sure," she chirped, patting a spot beside her on the bed where she had been doing calculus homework (yuck!). "What do you want to talk about?" she asked once he had sat. She could tell something was up, there was something off in his manner. He kept shifting uncomfortably and he his posture was tense and straight.

"Cass—" he started, but hesitated, brows furrowed, biting his lip. "Cass, I'm sorry—we had a good thing going and all—but—" he hesitated again, the pause longer and an expression like a kicked puppy on his face.

Wait a minute. 'Had.'

_Had. _Past tense.

"You're breaking up with me," she stated before he could get in another word in his clumsy apology, her own face pale with the realization. He didn't answer, but the way he wouldn't meet her eyes confirmed it. She set an stony expression on her face and asked, "why?"

"I—I don't feel the way I didn't about you when we started dating," he murmured, looking up to finally meet her eyes. She could see it was hurting him to say this—he was never one to inflict any sort of pain on anyone. He was buff, even for a senior in high school, but he was just a giant teddy bear. He couldn't harm a fly.

But she didn't care about that, he was hurting now, breaking up with her for seemingly no reason and all she could think was why doesn't he like me, why is he doing this, what did I do wrong and that she wanted to hurt him too.

But she couldn't. All she could say was "get out."

"Cass—" he started again as he stood, obviously about to go into another stupid apology, but she cut him off quick.

"No. Get. Out. I don't want to hear what you have to say, Horace Altman."

With that kicked puppy look, he left and once she heard the front door close she allowed the stony expression to fall with the tears.

* * *

Past tense is what I landed on this time. I didn't really care to write this one, but I never really liked writing stereotypical teenage girls. But I figured that was what she would be in this universe, give or take a few aspects.


	9. Line

"You are not allowed to cross this line," Halt said, chalking a, what could barely be called straight, line through the middle of the cabin, he on one side, his apprentice on the other. Said apprentice raised an inquisitive eyebrow at his mentor.

"And why not?" Will asked, drawing out the question.

"Because today I'm giving you a lesson in problem solving and possibly patience and restraint," Halt replied, moving away from the line to the cupboard, pulling out a mug and the jar of coffee. Angling himself so Will would see what he was doing, he spooned the ground coffee into the mug with deliberate slowness before pouring in boiling water from the kettle over the fire.

When Halt turned back to Will, the apprentice's wide eyes were fixed on the mug in his mentor's hands, basically drooling. Watching his apprentice's face he set the steaming mug down a few centimeters from line opposite Will; just out of reach. "This mug is for you," he said, seeing Will's eyes brighten, "but you can't cross the line." The apprentice's face darkened and his brow furrowed in thought.

"Halt—" he started but the ranger cut him off.

"No questions; you figure this out yourself," he said, and with that left the cabin, leaving his apprentice to his own devices.

Half an hour later, Halt looked in on his apprentice and raised his eyebrows at what he saw. Will was sitting cross legged on the floor where he had been standing when Halt left, but he held the mug of coffee, sipping at it with a contented smile. The segment of line between the apprentice and the mug had been scuffed away and redrawn around where the mug had been. Halt smiled to himself. He had expected no less of his apprentic.

* * *

So it's been five days since I last updated this and it really doesn't seem like much, but it's the kind of thing I had planned on updating at least every other day and this may be the last update for awhile. Things at home are bad, school is busy, extra curriculars are busy, and I am at war with myself.

And because I feel like I should talk and I find it easier to talk anonymously to people I don't know and will likely never meet than people I know, I'm just going to use this to talk. (Feel free not to read; I won't be offended.)

My mom has cancer and she was diagnosed last year. It's malignant melanoma and recently it's gotten really bad. Over the summer it had spread to her lungs, and they removed the tumor there, but recently it has spread further. A recent test revealed several tumors all over her body and it's not looking good. Though, to be honest, I've been more worried about how this all affects my grandma (who I live with) and my youngest brother (who is living with us along with my mother due to the cancer). My other brother (who has been living with me and my grandma) and I have never been very close to our mother as she didn't do much to raise us. Though the whole situation is affecting me more than I had thought it would. When my grandma told me the news of the tumors today I went to my room and just kind of broke down. I didn't cry, it was more mental than emotional.

On top of that other things are stressing me out and taking up time. Next Wednesday I'm performing at my school's Speak Easy (it's booze free) and I'm nervous as all get out. I've memorized my poem for the Poetry Out Loud contest bit but I'm having trouble with its tone and I'm not very far on the song I'm doing for the open mic segment. As well as that I have to memorize eight songs (four of which are fairly difficult) for choir contest in about two or so months, which doesn't sound bad, but the part I'm most worried about are the other people in my ensembles. Most don't give a rat's ass and won't make much of an attempt to learn the music. Plus we're starting auditions for the school play and for the school newspaper I have a major article due by next Friday on school security (an issue that our sponsor thought necessary to address after Sandy Hook). I have two paragraphs and no one is giving me usable quotes or answers in my interviews. It's frustrating so say the least. My brothers are constantly fighting and arguing which adds to my irritation and I'm having relationship problems (just what every high school girl needs, right?)

I apologize for all that, but I needed to express it all some way. I'll at least try to update this a couple times a week just to keep it going.


	10. Costume

He moved through the costumed crowd, feeling hot and sweaty in the way so-called average teens found enjoyable with pulsing flashes of like searing retinas, music forcing addictive adrenaline through hot veins and warm bodies pressing in on each other.

Admittidly ridiculously dressed in homade cardboard armor, Horace continued through the party goers, searching in particular for dark unruly hair and a mischievous smile. With a grin, he found it, eye catchingly clad in tight black clothes reminiscent of a ninja, and placed his hands around the other young man's slim waist, leaning his head on a bony shoulder to whisper warm air in his ear.

"This costume might have to go before the night is out," he said, grinning wider.

Will's hands fell over his own as he pressed back into him and they moved to the feeling of the bass.

"Cardboard?" his partner inquired rhetorically and he could almost hear the smirk in it. "Too, uncomfortable. might have to go before mine."

Horace shook his head and smiled to himself, knowing without a doubt the costumes meant nothing and would continue to mean nothing strewn about someone's bedroom floor.

* * *

I am so very sorry to the faithful follower(s) I have. I know I haven't updated in over a month, but things have been bouncing back and forth from okay to awful to tolerable to good and back again in such a way that it's hard to get anything recreational done. But I plan on putting up a few drabbles and things today since there is currently a snow storm raging outside and thus I am home bound anyway.

And on a good not, I got my acceptance letter from college Tuesday. Now I have to go through the whole process of enrollment, room and board sign ups, orientation and taking out student loans. Yay...

By the by, I changed my pen name, but I don't think it has taken effect yet, but just know that now my pen name is the cat and the canary.


	11. Moon

Horace chased Will through the waves of Seacliff fief, the young ranger laughing and taunting that a "big, clunky armor wearing knight" had no hope of catching anything as elusive as a ranger. Horace figured he was probably right, but continued the chase anyway, laughing as well. He finally slowed, panting slightly when he came upon where Will had flopped on to his back in the sand, wearing a goofy grin as the tiny granules stuck to his wet skin and hair just as the shorts he wore clung wetly to his hips and thighs. Horace huffed out a sigh and flopped back into the sand next to him.

After a few minutes of companionable silence, Will sat up to look at the moon hanging over the water, its reflection continually distorted by the waves. "Beautiful, isn't it?" he breathed and Horace turned his head slightly to look at his friend, the notion of sitting to look at what he was talking about fleeing with what he saw.

The ranger's back what mostly covered in sand and his wet hair stuck up and flopped every which way it pleased, but the light from the very moon he was currently captivated by caught on his skin and in the water droplets still clinging to him, creating an effect that could only be called surreal. Yeah, you are, popped into his head, but he didn't dare say it. He had been noticing more of these moments every time he and Will met up and every time he nearly came completely unhinged or tripped over his own two traitorously clumsy feet. The unknown emotions that accompanied these instances had honestly scared him, until he had a much appreciated talk with Jenny the last time he had visited Redmont.

With a jolt he realized Will was staring at him, eyes wide in surprise, and, to his mortification, that he had said the words aloud.

"Horace—" the ranger started, but the young knight stood quickly, cutting him off with a muttered apology as he strode away from his friend, feeling horrified with himself.

Will called after him, sounding frustrated, but the other didn't respond. He huffed and grabbed a handful of wet sand, patting it into a ball before chucking it, the sphere striking the knight on the back of his head.

Flinching at the impact, Horace stopped and hesitated before turning back to face the ranger, not sure what to expect. Will approached him, looking none too happy.

"You can't just walk away after something like that," he said, brows furrowed as he scowled "You didn't even want to hear what I had to say; you just assumed it was what you didn't want to hear."

Horace felt ashamed, finding himself unable to meet Will's eyes and looking down instead. He was right,Horace had just assumed it was something he didn't want to hear, after all what were the chances the ranger would reciprocate any feelings past friendship?

"Sorry, Will," the knight muttered, feeling as if he could just sink into the ground. There came a resigned sigh and suddenly there were two slightly calloused, gentle hands on his cheeks. Surprised, he finally looked up from the ground to look into Will's eyes, finding affection there.

"Next time, just let me finish," the ranger said, his hands moving from Horace's cheeks to the back of his neck in order to pull him down into a kiss.

* * *

This time I landed on the prefix selen, which means moon.

This one is like super _long. _At least for me. But the original of this is about twice as long. I didn't post it all because it seemed like too much and it wasn't very well written and I didn't feel like doing the revise and editing so you get this instead. I might post the original later as its own thing.

We also just got hit with another snow storm in less than a week so I've been stuck inside again and shall be stuck inside tomorrow as well and possibly Thursday so you guys can likely hope for a few more updates to this.


	12. Finite

I landed on finite. This one is a bit AU and touches a bit on the darker and more philosophical side of things. It kind of made me sad writing this, so next one _will _be happier!

* * *

In the world, nothing is infinite; everything has an end. War is bound to bring an end to peace and peace will always end war. Storms disperse. Night changes to day, day to night. People die, plants wither and kingdoms fall.

Nothing would be spared this fate; it had never been and never would be a matter of _if_, only _when._

And sometimes, _when_ came far too soon, like it had for the babe that had died of pneumonia earlier that year. As it had for the queen, giving birth to the princess. As it had for his lover, who had given his life on a foreign battlefield in a war that should never have happened.

But of course it was not just his love who had died for king and country, hundreds of lovers, husbands, brothers, friends were dying for the transgressions of those who made the laws of the world. But of course, it was only his love that mattered, for it had been_ his _blood stained cloak, _his _bloody sword and broken shield, _his_ unsent letters that had been delivered that morning while _his_ body had burned to ash in a pyre.

Nothing lasted, he knew, but subconsciously he harbored the smallest of hopes that perhaps love did, or if it didn't that it would at least out last him, for even years after the death of the young knight, the ranger would reread those unsent letters and feel the love swell in his chest the way it had all those years ago in King Duncan's court at the first sight.

* * *

_My Dearest Will,_

_I continue write to you though I know you will not receive this; we have no way of sending letters home and it is unlikely we ever will. But perhaps you will read these someday, and perhaps I can be the one to deliver them to you._

_I do not believe I ever explained why I'm writing to you, knowing this won't be sent. I suppose it is because it calms me, even more so that it is to you. It allows me to forget about the war going on around me and helps me to focus on what I really want to think about._

_You. And all the memories we've shared. Like the first time we met, at court. You were so impressed by everything! It was easy to tell you had never been in such a grand palace. But it was your innocence and naivety that drew me to you and I will swear now as I did then that it was love at first sight. Or the time you fell in that lake trying to catch Alyss's handkerchief and I fell in trying to catch you. Or when we got caught in rain that Sunday last March._

_I must stop writing soon. Already the bugle has sounded to call us to formation to continue our march._

_How is Halt? And Tug? And Alyss and Jenny and all of them? Is life as a King's Ranger still as exciting? Are you settling into your fief alright?_

_ Forever yours,_

_ Horace_

_P. S. I love you, Will. And miss you. More than I think I could ever say or even understand. Please, stay safe in Araluen for me and I promise I will return as soon as this war is over, even if I must stop it myself._


	13. Reform

It was the twentieth century and with the new century came change and calls for reform, especially in the area of women's rights. Naturally, Lady Cassandra was part of this, as strong willed and hard headed as she was.

Today, she was in Ripon standing with the crowd to hear the liberal candidate speak. The chaufer, Horace Altman stood next to her, shifting and looking around uncomfortably. He was all for reform, but this seemed dangerous; all ready people were booing and shouting insults at the speaker. This could get ugly fast.

"My lady," he called over the noise of the crowd, "I think we should go! This is starting to look dangerous!"

"Nonsense, Horace!" she called back, a delighted smile on her face. "This is only the beginning!"

He didn't know what to do. If anything happened to the Lady here, it would cost him his job. Luckily, he saw a woman pushing through the crowd to them and recognized Lady Pauline, followed by her daughter, Alyss. They had the same views as Cassandra, but were a right more sensible.

"What are you doing here?" Lady Pauline asked, gripping Cassandra's arm.

"The same thing you are," the girl replied.

"I see that," she scowled, "but we were just leaving; not standing in the middle of all this! Go home, before a riot starts."

"But this is all so exciting! Isn't is Horace?" Luckily he didn't have to answer that as Lady Pauline stepped in again.

"But think! If something were to happen to you, it would cost Horace his job!" That seemed to show Cassandra some sense and she nodded resignedly, if a bit hesitantly. "Go home," Lady Pauline repeated and all four pushed through the crowd together.

This time, she had only been a bystander and forced to leave, but change was happening and if she had anything to say about, Lady Cassandra would not just sit by and let it happen. Reformation needed a voice, why not let it be hers?

* * *

Alright, here's this. It's not exactly happy, but its not sad either. I adapted this scene from Downton Abbey (which is amazing!).

Alright, so I posted the original to "Moon" under the name "By the Light of the Moon" if you guys want to check it out.


	14. Chitterlings

Holy _cow_. I've been sicker than a dog today! I've only been able to stomach half a can of soup without feeling like my stomach is staging a rebellion/going on strike. The only reason I'm posting an update is because I'm bored out of my mind. I've watched every movie I own at least a hundred times over and I can't sleep. I'm either too unbearably hot and sweaty or so cold I feel like my blood might be freezing.

Anywho, I landing on chitterlings. Also known as chitlings or chitlins. They are "intestines of hogs especially prepared as food." It sounds gross and looks gross (I Google image searched; bad idea). Yet another reason I'm vegetarian . . .

* * *

As he entered the cottage, Will's nose twitched as the smell hit him. Stopping just inside the door, he furrowed his brow and took a whiff as sounds of something sizzling came to him from the kitchen area. It smelled something like pork, but the smell was . . . off. Not quite right.

He found Halt in front of the range, moving something that looked like large, shriveled, fleshy peanuts still in their shells around an iron skillet with a wooden spoon. His face wrinkled in disgust at the sight as he asked, "What on earth is _that_?"

"Chitlings," Halt replied in his usual gruff manner.

"Which are?" Will prompted, glancing between the food (was it food?) and his mentor.

"Hog intestines," came the reply.

Feeling utterly disgusted, Will turned away. "Don't tell me you plan on eating that?" Halt just snorted.

"Of course I plan on eating it," the ranger scoffed. "We eat ham all the time and _you_ certainly enjoy bacon. The intestines are part of the animal; why not eat them?"

"Yeah, but so are bones, and we don't eat those," came the cheeky response.

Halt rolled his eyes and kept himself from snapping as he deposited the, if he said so himself, perfecting fried intestines onto a plate. "You can't hate something you haven't tried," he said as he plucked one from the platter and popped it into his mouth.

Will gave him and uncertain look before cautiously picking one up. He studied it a moment before taking a small nibble, spitting it back out the same moment. "That's disgusting!" he said and dropped his piece back on the plate.

Halt just chuckled and grabbed another for himself.


	15. Good Tempered

The topic was "good tempered." This one was written for paisley15 who requested if I were to land on the right word, that I write Halt giving Horace the shovel talk. So this is for you, paisley, as thanks for being such a constant support to me in this. I do hope you enjoy.

* * *

Halt had always considered himself good tempered. He was patient and fair with his apprentices, reasonable in counseling of Baron Arald and King Duncan and patience in listening to his wife's constant chatting.

(Of course none of this was true. He scolded questioning apprentices and gave them ridiculous tasks, became short tempered when the King and the Baron's opinions were obviously wrong and when Lady Pauline started talking, he growled softly and tuned her out. But we'll leave a man his illusions.)

That is why, when Horace and Will showed up at his door claiming they had a week's leave from their respective castles, Halt invited them, offering eagerly accepted coffee. As they entered, he did not miss the way they walked so close, hands brushing or the brighter than usual look that flashed in Will's eyes along side the blush that stained his cheeks when their hands _did _touch. Or the shy smile on Horace's lips and the mirroring blush on his own cheeks.

The ranger raised his bushy eyebrows and found an excuse to send Will out, claiming Abelard would like to see Tug and the young ranger again. He thought it was shody at best, but the young man left anyway, sending a small wave and a bright smile Horace's direction before leaving.

Letting the silence settle a moment, Halt spoke. "Horace," he said in his gruff voice and the young knight jumped slightly, fidgeting; his knee bouncing and hands so tightly gripped together his knuckles turned white.

"Y-yes, Halt?" he stammered out, releasing his hands and reaching for the hot mug of coffee, probably hoping to calm himself.

"What are your romantic intentions with my former apprentice?" Horace's eyes widened in shock as he he tried to speak and swallow his coffee at the same time, only succeeding in producing a rather alarming choking sound.

"P-pardon?" he stammered once partially composed (not choking at least, but looking very close to fainting).

"You heard me," Halt growled, disliking having to repeat himself.

Horace was silent a moment, very nervous. The fact that Halt had so easily read into his and Will's current relationship was more than a little disturbing. He couldn't ever recall feeling so ill composed around the older ranger. Sure, Halt could be scary, but Horace had never had a reason to be afraid him.

"W-well," the knight started, setting the mug down. "I love Will very—"

"Yes, yes, that's all very well and good," the ranger said impatiently, waving the young man's words away. "But what are your _intentions_?"

Horace gaped like a fish for moment, not really wanting to detail his and Will's, um, _exploits _to his lover's former mentor, before Halt growled impatiently.

"Horace Altman," the man started threateningly, "this had better not turn out to be a roll in the hay, or a mid-summer's tryst. You and I both know Will deserves more than that."

"Yes, I know, and—" Horace tried to interject and explain that he had no intention of it just being a "roll in the hay" or any sort of tryst, but Halt cut him off.

"And if those are your intentions and you hurt Will in anyway," he paused, for effect, "I will castrate you personally and make you watch as I feed what makes you a man to the hogs. Is that clear?"

Horace could only gulp and nod in fright, suddenly _very_ afraid of the ranger. "Yes, sir," he answered once he found the courage.

Then was the moment Will choose to enter, taking in the pale faced Horace and scowling Halt. He gave a Horace a concerned look, ignoring Halt's scowl (Halt, after all, was always scowling).

"Horace, are you alright?" he asked, approaching the young knight and placing his wrist against Horace's forehead to check for a fever.

"I'm fine," Horace assured him, offering a shaky smile, but Will looked unconvinced.

"You should probably rest," the young ranger said, taking his wrist away from the curiously cool forehead and turning to Halt with an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, Halt, but we should leave. I aught to see him back to the castle; Arald's offered us rooms. I'll come back and visit later."

Halt just nodded in understanding, seeing them to the door. As he watched them leave, he thought proudly of how he had handled Horace. It was just another testament to his good temperedness, seeing as how he had wanted to pull out the heavy and very sharp saxe knife in demonstration to his threat.


	16. Platform

In a land long since forgotten by time and survived by none who remember it, sits a crumbling fortress, once a grand castle flying colorful flags over a loyal kingdom. Generations of an ancient forest have overtaken the once and still proud structure, holding it protectively for a king who will never return.

In the castle there is a vast throne room, shot through with spears of sunlight where the stone had lost its strength and inhabited by the benign likes of the forest. Banners that have not rotted away hang sun faded and threadbare and suits of armor stand still erect and ever watchful as they house feathery nests and furry families.

In the throne room is raised a stone platform, criss-crossed with vines and the beginnings of saplings. Upon the platform sits a throne, once a mighty and majestic piece, once holding an equally mighty and majestic king. Though the wood of it has since started to rot from centuries unused, the throne remains untouched by the forest, again waiting for a king that can not return.

And as the forest waits, memories echo through the halls, the stonework itself aching for the presence of those who once walked there, holding on to the long gone lives of Araluen's greatest monarch and those of his court.

* * *

Don't ask me what this is because I don't know. I got platform and hardly incorporated it. This is just awful insomniac writing, but I felt like I should post something, so yeah...


	17. Evangelize

This time the word was "evangelize" which just means to either preach the gospel to or to convert to Christianity. I hope you guys like an appreciate this one because this turned out longer than I really expected (like, over a thousand words) and that is pretty unusual for me. Plus I've been sick (again), and things are all blah and busy and ugh. My school's drama club has to put on a play in two weeks and we've only been going a week. Most of us don't have our parts memorized yet and we don't even have half our props. It is _horrible. _I'm surprised our director hasn't thrown any chairs yet, as she's known to do.

Anyway, enjoy.

* * *

Horace hadn't ever really believed in God, but he was by no means atheist. He identified more with agnostic; he believed there may or may not be a God and either way it didn't really affect him. That is, it didn't until he met the attractive, dark haired, cross wearing Will Treaty at the local food pantry they both volunteered at.

One day, he was helping a small elderly lady gather her share of food, getting the things she couldn't reach from both the bottom and top shelves, rearranging her cart so everything fit and at the end he even offered to transport it all to her car. She excepted with a grateful smile and engaged him conversation as her things were bagged and packaged.

"What church do you go to?" she asked, the question making him slightly uncomfortable as questions of its like always did.

"I don't go to church," he replied, a bit sheepishly.

"Why not?" she asked with polite curiosity.

"Because I don't particularly believe in God." The old woman looked startled.

"But you're so nice," she said feebly, looking confused. Here, someone else decided to chime in.

"You don't believe in God?" A girl with long blond hair he volunteered with asked as she packed bags, frowning at him as he shook his head. "Then why do you volunteer at a _church_ founded food pantry?" Horace's frowned deepened at insinuation that because he didn't quite believe in God, he couldn't possibly be a good person.

"Because I want to," he replied. "I might not believe there's a God, but that doesn't mean I can't be a good person."

The blonde girl scoffed at this. "That's the point of being a good person. To get to Heaven. Next you'll be telling me we should let gays marry."

Horace opened his mouth to protest, but Will stepped in, giving her a cold look. "Don't be rude, Alyss," he said and turned to Horace, his expression softening. "I'm sorry about that. She didn't mean anything by it." Horace knew full well that she did, but he let it drop and they all got back to work as Will suggested.

At the end of their shift, Horace found Will waiting for him in the back room, leaning against the wall with his hands in is jacket pocket, a light scarf wound around his neck. "I'm sorry about earlier; Alyss shouldn't have talked to you like that," he said as Horace pulled on his hoodie.

Horace just shrugged. "It's fine. I'm used to it," he replied, and truly he was used to it. He got those kind of questions and reactions on a more-frequent-than-should-be basis.

"But that doesn't make it okay," Will protested, following Horace out the back door and into the crisp autumn afternoon where the bigger man headed for the bike wrack. "At least let me buy you a coffee to kind of make up for it."

Horace knelt to unchain his bike, thinking about the offer. "Alright," he conceded, smiling.

After a short walk and some trouble finding a bike wrack or unoccupied light post, they two young men found themselves in a cozy local cafe called Lakota, siting across from each other at small, round table nursing warm mugs of coffee.

"So, why don't you believe in God?" Will asked, breaking their surprisingly comfortable silence. Though right after the words left his mouth, he blushed in embarrassment. "Sorry, you don't have to answer. I shouldn't have asked."

Horace laughed and assured Will it was alright. "Don't apologize, I know you don't mean anything bad by it." After a moment of thought he shrugged. "I just don't. I mean, I think it's possible there might be a God, but for the most part, I just don't believe. I've never really had a want or reason to."

"But you don't have a reason not to believe either, right?" Will asked, looking a bit perplexed. Horace nodded. "But if you have no reason to not believe and no reason to believe, why choose to not believe?"

Horace shrugged and looked at his mug in thought. "I guess because I don't like how a lot of religious people act towards the non religious and towards other religions. I guess I didn't want to risk becoming like that." He looked up at Will, still thoughtful. "Why _do you_ believe in God."

Will blinked at the question and hesitated in answering, chewing at his bottom lip in thought. "Because I . . . just do," he said, realizing what Horace meant about having no particular reason to believe or not to believe.

Horace gave a knowing smile. Will at least understood.

They talked for awhile longer, until their mugs were empty and the sun had started to set.

Horace stood slowly, smiling at Will. "I had a nice time," he said, and Will nodded in agreement. "What would you say to meeting up for coffee again? Maybe tomorrow?"

Will smiled and nodded. "I'd like that," he said, and they left, both eager for tomorrow.

They met on an off for the next few weeks, mostly meeting for coffee but other times meeting for lunch or dinner at a local bar, McNally's. They talked much during these meetings and learned more than they had initially thought about each other.

Horace learned that though Will believed in God, he wasn't opposed to the same things other believers were. He supported gay marriage for one and had even alluded once (with an adorable blush, Horace might add) to a previous homosexual relationship. He also learned that like him, Will was an orphan and had been brought by his rough looking but kind uncle, Halt and that he was studying cultural anthropology in the smaller school on the opposite side of town from the large university Horace attended.

Will learned similar things about Horace. How his parents died in a car crash half way through his sophomore year of high school and how a family friend had taken him in for the rest of high school. How he was studying music at the big university across town and how he had come out as bisexual a few years ago (and out that little tid bit gave the smaller boy a bit of hope he refused to touch for now).

One night (more like morning) Horace walked Will back to his dorm after they had shared nachos and a large pizza. It was finals season and both were stressed. Horace had been a little surprised to receive a text from Will, asking him out for midnight pizza at McNally's. Naturally, he had accepted.

Now they walked toward Will's dorm, both wrapped up against the December chill. They walked close together, their shoulder's often brushing (or, really, Will's shoulder and Horace's upper arm brushed). Both boys' cheeks would heat up with each contact and both tried to convince themselves that it was just the cold air, but to no avail.

Finally, they were standing outside Will's building, saying soft good byes and sharing shy smiles before Will turned to enter the building. On a whim, Horace reached out and grabbed his elbow, stopping him and suddenly feeling rather awkward and nervous and the thoughts that flitted unbidden through his mind, the most prominent being that he should kiss the young man.

"Will," he started, feeling his resolve starting to crumble. "I—We should do that again. I like it." He felt he could kick himself with the way he just let his resolve completely fall.

But then Will smiled and nodded, murmuring, "I'd like that," and Horace's resolve seemed to rebuild itself just a little, enough for him to lean forward and press their lips together in a chaste kiss. Horace pulled back, fearing the reaction Will might have, but he just looked pleasantly surprised. Smiling widely, the smaller man reached up and around Horace's neck, pulling him down for another, longer kiss.

For the first time in a long time, Horace thanked God, thinking maybe he could believe, especially when kissing Will.

* * *

Okay, also, I know this may not sound so exciting for a lot of you, but this has gotten more than a thousand views total, which to me is a lot, so I've decided to do a little contest. The prize will be the winner(s) can request for me to write anything in the Ranger's Apprentice fandom. Any person(s) or pairing, any prompt. What ever you want.

Now, depending on how many answers I get, I'll either give the prize to whoever answers correctly first or to all who answer correctly. I'll give you guys a week from today (March 12) to answer.

Here is the question: What is Abelard's code word? I'll accept two different answers.

Remember, you have a til next Tuesday (the 19)!


	18. Car

This one was car. Man, I've been writing more lately. This one is pretty close to a thousand words. I hope (and assume) you guys don't mind because I personally like that I'm writing more.

* * *

Horace sat in hospital waiting room, leg bouncing restlessly as he chewed at the nails on his left hand—the least injured one—impatiently.

He and Will had been in a car accident, a very serious one. Will had been driving his white Oldsmobile rust bucket, with a grey interior and cassette player, when an either careless or drunk driver hit them driver's side on in an intersection at forty miles per hour. It had only happened a couple of hours ago and Horace remembered it far too clearly.

He remembered that horrible moment of realization as he saw the truck approaching far to fast through Will's window. He remembered his boyfriend's care free, unaware smile as he sang horribly along with the radio just before the impact. He remembered the impact and screaming out Will's name as the force of the collision sent him jerking painful against his seat belt and into the passenger door, his head cracking painfully against the glass.

He remembered stumbling out of the car and then turning to grab at a very unconscious and very pale Will, intending to pull him out, ignoring how his head and right arm ached. He had to untangle the seat belt and work Will's arm out from beneath the crushed metal of what had been his door.

Injury wise, Horace had been lucky, much luckier than Will. He had only sustained a minor concussion, a broken wrist, bruising along his right side and various minor cuts. He had been easily taken care of.

But Will had not. On his left side the humerus was broken and the same lower bones (the radius and ulna) were fractured in similar places. The femur had broken in one place and fractured in another while the knee had been pushed out of joint and most of the ribs were fractured if not broken. His pelvis had also almost completely shattered. Not to mention the serious concussion, damaged vertebrae in his neck and various other cuts and abrasions, most worse than Horace's.

Currently, doctor's were operating on him, attempting to set and repair the more serious breaks, such his pelvis and it was almost another two hours before a doctor approached him looking exhausted but rather relieved.

"Horace Altman?" the man asked, then continued at the confirmation of the boy's identity. "Your friend will be fine. His injuries are very serious, but after a while here and proper care and rest at home, he will be fine." Horace let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and ran a shaky hand through his hair, smiling at the good news. He thanked the doctor nearly laughed and cried at the same time he was so relieved.

"Can I see him?" he asked as the doctor started to walk away. The man gave him a hesitant look before nodding slowly.

"I think so. It shouldn't really be a problem," he said and gestured for Horace to follow.

He led the boy through a doorway and into the ICU, stopping out side a door that had been left a jar. "Now, he is awake, he has to be for the concussion, but he may not be very lucid. A nurse will check on him every ten to fifteen minutes, but if someone is needed before then, just push the call button." With that, the doctor put an comforting hand on Horace's shoulder and left.

Horace pushed into the room, carefully and quietly, looking around momentarily before focusing on Will. The boy lay slightly propped up in the bed with several hospital bands wrapped around his right wrist. There were casts on his arm and leg, a brace around his neck and he could see the bump of what he assumed would also likely be a brace supporting his pelvis under the hospital gown. His eyes were half open and glazed over. The heart monitor beeped softly with his pulse.

Horace pulled a chair up to the side of the bed and sat, just looking at Will a moment before slowly taking his right hand in a loose grip. He could feel the tears welling in his eyes at the state of his boyfriend just as he let the reality of the situation come over him. Will could have _died._ He certainly looked like it had been close.

With this knew thought in his mind, Horace let his head fall to the edge of the mattress, holding Will's hand close to his face. The tears fell and he shook with the silent sobs.

Suddenly, Will's fingers tightened weakly around his own just as he heard his voice. It was hoarse, but definitely Will's.

"Horace . . ." he croaked dryly, looking at the larger boy as best he could while unable to move his neck. Horace raised his head to look at Will, tears still falling. He was unable to stop them now that they had started. "Horace . . . don't cry . . . . 'M alright . . . ."

Horace gave a shaky smile and nodded. "I know," he murmured, bringing Will's hand up to his lips, kissing the back of it in a loving gesture that had Will smiling weakly. "I'm just so glad that you aren't—that you're okay."

Will weakly squeezed Horace's hand again, knowing what he had been about to say. But he didn't dwell on it. "'M glad . . . you are . . . too," he croaked out with another small smile and Horace kissed his hand again, the touch lingering longer.

* * *

So, I want to apologize in advance if what I write over the next month or so has a dark mood to it (I'm sorry if this one does; but to be fair I wrote it at about two am yesterday morning, before the bad news), but I learned today that my mother doesn't have much longer to live, maybe two months. So please just bear with me.

Also, remember the question! Please feel free to answer; you have til Tuesday. And so you know, I will most likely take several requests from this.


	19. Dishonour

This time it is dishonour. I didn't specifically use the word in this one, but I hope you guys get the underlying theme of i

t in this, its kind ofburied deep.

* * *

He stood in the middle of the floor, facing a panel of his superiors and on either side of him sat a jury of his fellow knights and people he knew from the village. Some he knew well and liked, others he knew wouldn't mind seeing him swing and still more he might have seen before but did not know. He could feel their gazes on him, the feeling raising the hairs on the back of his neck. He could feel the coarse, dark material marking him as a criminal itch against his skin and the cool iron manacles on his wrists that kept him tethered to the iron ring bolted to the floor.

"Horace Altman," the solemnly robed man with a golden crown on his brow said, his voice echoing authoritatively around the silent court room. "Are you aware of the allegations against you?" The man's voice was not harsh or unkind, but rather sounded sorrowful. As king, he knew this young man standing before him in chains as one of his best knights. It was indeed a dark day to see one with such promise fall so far.

"I am," Horace replied, expression resigned and stance proud and straight. Despite circumstances, he would go down with dignity.

"Then you are aware of the penalty if these allegations are proven true." It was not a question; all knew the punishment for such a crime. Love itself was not a crime, but loving the wrong person was.

"I am," the young knight repeated, however unnecessary it was. It was all for show anyway; everyone knew, though it may pain them to face it, that he would be found guilty and thus hanged.

With a long, almost silent sigh that seemed to hold all the weight of the world, King Duncan spoke again, voice softer. "Baron, please read the accused the allegation that have been brought forth against him." Next to him, a rotund man in similar grey apparel rose, unrolling a piece of parchment as he cleared his throat to speak.

"Horace Altman, second class knight in His Majesty's service, you have hereby been accused of participating in a relationship of a romantic nature with one Will Treaty of the Ranger Corps." As the last word was said, a silence rang through the room, giving Horace a moment to think as the name of his lover invoked unbidden thoughts and feelings.

He felt his love of the young ranger flow through him as it always had at just the slightest provocation and saw images of countless kisses and touches flash across his mind. He knew by now Will would be safely tucked away, hidden by the other rangers. That, at least, was a mercy. Will would be spared his fate.

"Do you deny this accusation?" the Baron with the parchment asked, effectively ending the moment.

"I do not," Horace replied, hearing distressed murmurs ripple around the room. Looking at the panel, most of his judges looked pained at his confession, particularly Rodney, his mentor and father figure. But what was there to be done about it? Even if he had denied the charges, the outcome would have been the same: death by hanging.

Another silence filled the room, pressing down heavily on all inside before the king spoke, face stony, but eyes reflecting the same pained look as Rodney.

"Horace Altman," His Majesty began and time seemed to slow, giving thousands of regrets and millions of fulfilled dreams time to rush through Horace before his sentence was announced. "You are hereby sentenced to hang by the neck till dead."

* * *

I've decided to end the question contest thing a day early, since I think I've gotten all the responses I'm going to get. So, **paisley 15**, **Spazzyninjafish** and **when-i-caught-myself**, you can either leave a review or send me a PM with your story requests. Remember, they can be of any person(s) or pairing(s), any prompt, any rating even if you want it specified. All I ask is that it be related to _Ranger's Apprentice._

Also, though this really shouldn't impact my posting of anything too much, I feel inclined to warn you guys that things are getting really rough right now and writing anything might get difficult. My mother is on the verge of death and could go at any time. She is in a lot of pain and his having difficulty breathing as well as she is barely lucid. She can't move, though she was rather responsive today. But a couple of hours ago, she stopped really responding. But I will still be posting as writing is giving me a welcome distraction and is helping me (it's a wonderful way to express one's self and let things out). And to the three who answered my question, I'm only saying this because you seem like the kind of people who would feel bad requesting your stories at such a time, but don't hesitate in requesting. Obviously they won't be written immediately, but thinking on your prompts will give me a reprieve from all the people tramping through the house, the smell of doom and death, and funeral arrangements.


	20. Resplendence

The word was resplendence. With it, I decided to write a sequel to the last chapter, though this one feels as if I could write more to it. Kind of like I could turn it into it's own fic. Hmm, I might actually think about doing that.

* * *

The next day dawned weak and cold, the pale light from the repressed sun struggling to put even a modicum of warmth into the earth. The villagers filed toward Gibbet Hill as murmurs passed among them, the people seeming as repressed as the sun; it made the mood dark.

But it was to be expected. After all, upon the gallows a top the hill, a noose being fitted around his neck, stood Horace Altman, a good friend, respectable knight and an overall gentleman. No one wished to see such a fine young man hang, but it was the law and no exception should or could be made.

So it was with heavy hearts accompanied by the hungry and impatient calls from the crows, the people gathered about the gallows.

Horace felt the noose tighten around his neck as the public executioner tugged at the rope. He closed his eyes, taking in a calming deep breath, likely the last one he would ever have as the executioner checked to make sure the noose was just right and the knight's hands were tied securely behind he back before stepping away toward the lever that would open the trap door beneath Horace's feet.

He was aware of King Duncan standing on a platform set next to the gallows, speaking, but his consciousness refused to recognized the words as human speech as the reality of his impending death settled over him. By no means was he afraid of dying; he had been near it too many times to fear it now. No, he was facing his own mortality with regret. For not telling Will he loved him the last time they saw each other, however brief and public that had been. For not taking Will on that promised vacation to Skandia to visit Erak. For not taking Will to leave in the dead of night for some unknown land like they had joked about.

Horace steeled himself with final resolve as Duncan's speech ended and the order for his execution came. He heard the creak of the lever, followed immediately by the creak of the trap door, but under both sounds came the sound of a blade slicing through air, almost like a scythe at the harvest, followed by the sound of tearing rope and a heavy blade sticking itself in wood.

Horace fell, though his downward momentum was not stopped by the rope. Instead he fell straight through the trap door to the ground, where his legs failed to catch him, leaving him to stumble in to the moss and mud.

There were astonished gasps and murmurs followed by very few angry shouts. Horace righted himself as best he could to look down over the crowd, gasping himself when he saw the solitary figure standing at the mouth of the path that led through the forest. Though the figure wasn't wearing its traditional grey-green mottled cloak, obviously intending to make a scene with a white one instead, the young knight knew exactly who it was.

Will.

Horace's chest swelled with both hope and anger; hope of rescue and anger at the fact Will was putting himself in danger for Horace's sake, the white cloak shining like a beacon against the gray of the sky and dark greens of the forest around them.

But he didn't have time to dwell on these emotions as a rain of arrows fletched with black feathers fell into the crowd. Though no one was hit, the arrows sticking harmlessly out of the loam, like a strange field growing feathers.

In the chaos caused by the arrows, Will darted gracefully through the crowd, toward Horace, the knight catching the cheeky grin just visible under the hood as he came face to face with the young ranger. Though it certainly wasn't the time to think about it, Horace thought the white of cloak really complimented the ranger's darker coloring. To be honest nothing, not even anything divine, could look as resplendent as his savior, the thought that Will truly looked as though he could be some young god or demigod come to earth to save some mortal he had grown fond of in his head.

But all this thinking was cut short as the ranger cut loose the bonds and noose before dragging Horace to his feet.

"What are you doing here?" Horace hissed belatedly, already being led swiftly away.

"Saving your sorry arse, of course," came the cheeky reply, though the effect was lost in his serious tone as he glanced about, making sure they weren't being pursued. Of course the king's guards had noticed them, with the blindingly white cloak and all, and a couple called after them to stop in the name of the king, but for the most part, no one attempted to stop them as they ran into the thick forest.

"But why the cloak?" he asked as they came upon the small ranger horses waiting ready amongst the trees. Around them, other rangers were mounting and urging their steeds into action, racing farther away from the hill.

"I'll explain later," came the short reply as Will swung himself onto the back of his steed, Tug, Horace clambering on behind him and encircling his arms around the slighter man's waist. With a slight nudge from Will's knees, the small horse took off like a shot.

* * *

I'm sorry for not updating, but I'm sure you guys understand. My mom died Thursday morning and her funeral was yesterday. Since Tuesday I haven't really had the will do anything except sit with my mom and all the stress has worn me down to the point I don't really do anything except sleep. I think what also might be wearing me down is the fact that though I've accepted it consciously, I haven't accepted it on my subconscious level. I find myself seeing things or doing something that I would normally tell her about and going home with the intention of tell her, but then I remember that she's not going to be there.

I've also felt a lot older over the past few days. I think that's due to making a lot of the funeral decisions and to the stress from _everything_, especially the news we got concerning her life insurance policy. We found out that my mom couldn't keep paying it, so she talked to my great-great uncle (who is loaded) and he agreed to take over paying the policy. Well, the guy at the funeral home called him about it because we were under the impression that the policy would help pay for the funeral costs, like my mom had told us it would, saying that we wouldn't have to worry about it, it was all taken care of. But he told the funeral home guy and my aunt that the policy would not go to pay the funeral costs. When my aunt asked what it would go toward, if not the funeral, he told her it was none of her business and that he was not at liberty to tell her. She told him to fuck off and hung up. She still refuses to talk to him (I don't blame her). So, since we didn't have the policy to pay for it and none of us have much money, we ended up asking donations to pay for it. Luckily we raised more than enough for a funeral and cremation, though we really wanted to bury her. It makes me so mad that because of that fucker we weren't able to bury my mother like she wanted to be.

But we found out later that he had changed the policy so it would go to help me and my brothers with college. We also found out that though my grandmother was named beneficiary of the policy, she has no say over the money, which means he can still do what every he wants with it, which also means we may or may not get the money. What makes it worse is that the day before her death, he came to house, told me he was sorry about my mother and said that if I ever needed help finding or applying for scholarships and grants, all I had to do was call him. After I learned about about the policy, I was SOOOO pissed, I wanted to, and still want to, punch him in his fat, conniving, rich, mother fucking face.

Okay, sorry about all that and, but I think I needed it all off my chest. But on the bright side, a lot of people in the community have been helping us. Sending food, money and things to help us. My boss as the cafe I work at is even holding a silent auction to raise money to help me and my brothers. It's amazing what people will do for you in such a time. People's true color's really show through.


	21. Paste

Paste was today's word. Actually, I landed between pasta and paste and just chose to go with paste. So here you guys go, something a bit more lighthearted.

* * *

_Preschool, circa 1998, Mrs Bowler's classroom_

Will Treaty was not what one would call a normal child. But it was not just his unique home life as the foster child of the man he, in all his four year old glory, knew very well as "Uncle Haat," the best friend the parents he had lost in the war, that made him . . . special. Of course, he was active, as most children should be, and also intelligent. But perhaps a bit too intelligent for the status quo, though this was not what made him abnormal; many kids these days were deemed "highly" intelligent for "their age." In fact, it was this intelligence that had landed him in preschool a year early, at the insistence of Uncle Halt's girlfriend, "Aunt Pauwine."

No, it was none of this that made dear little Will so unusual. What placed him in the "special" category, much to Mrs Bowler's OCD, germaphobic horror, was the simple fact that he enjoyed sitting in the corner consuming paste.

That's right, eating glue. Elmer's glue to be exact.

Of course most little tyke's have the pleasure of trying this stickiest-of-all treats, much like most teens venture to try just that _one _beer before they are of age (but that is an experience Will won't obtain for at least another twelve years), but recent studies have shown that most children do not consume paste on a regular basis. Most are just once and done.

Of course Halt and Pauline have tried to break him of this horrible habit by buying glue that tasted rather like a compost heap, trying to impose on the lad's still spongy and absorbent brain that _glue is not good_. The substance, of course, was non-toxic. However, this did not solve the problem as Will seemed to understand that not all things under the same title taste the same. Meaning home glue, bad; school glue, good.

At the assurance of the pediatrician that this was just a mild case of pica and would likely pass as he got older, the two adults left the issue alone.

Mrs Bowler, however, still attempted from time to time to break Will's glue addiction, believing it to be very unhealthy and highly unsanitary. She tried all she could think of; giving him soft, low choking hazard candy to chew on in lieu of the glue, forcing him outside more often with the other children, introducing him to each new arrival hoping something would just _click_, and even hiding the glue (which he never failed to find).

But then came the day that changed the entire course of Will's strange addiction and would change the course of his entire life (but that is a story for another time). That day was the arrival Horace Altman, adopted son of a man called Rodney, and soon to be Will's best friend.

Upon meeting Horace at Mrs Bowler's request, Will offered the boy a handful of glue as he had with all the others. Horace curiously took the offered substance, always eager to try something new. But upon sticking the handful of sticky white paste in his mouth, he screwed up his face in disgust and ran off to spit the offending substance in to the trash can.

For the rest of the day, Horace would not go near Will, suspicious of the little boy who had given something that tasted so _awful_. Will seemed particularly downtrodden by this rejection. Once Will approached Horace, asking him to play, but Horace shook his head, saying he didn't want to play with someone who ate something so nasty. At this, Will had run off, crying.

He did not know why he wanted to be friends with Horace so bad, just that he wanted to be. Maybe it was because Horace was blonde, like those other little boys the little girls liked to chase around the playground. Or maybe it was because Horace was taller and bigger, thus cooler and more popular. Or maybe it was simply because Will was tired of not having friends and Horace just happened to be the closest living thing that Will could attache his affections to.

Though, not matter what the reason, this want of a friend and new determination to get one ultimately led Will to stop eating glue, the one requirement Horace had for Will to be his playmate.

* * *

Alright, so I've realized that I've been writing a lot of AU stuff for this. Do you guys like the AU or would you prefer more original universe stuff? Let me know.

Also, you three who are suppose to be sending me requests, I am eagerly awaiting them. I don't want to sound impatient, and I'm really not, but I am excited to know what you guys want.


	22. Bark

Today it was the first definition (at least in my dictionary) of bark, which would be the sound.

* * *

Around mid morning one day in the beginning of spring, when all the trees started budding and winter buried flowers started to poke their heads through the soil for a peak at the sun, Horace found himself entering the local animal shelter. Unsurprisingly he was greeted with the barks of excited pups, meows from curious cats and cries of "Mommy I want that one!" from kids old enough to feel lonely but still too young to know the meaning of friendship.

Shyly he perused through the isles of pens and cages, looking in on smaller scruffy terriers yipping excitedly at him, larger labs looking up at him with pleading eyes, and just about everything in between. He stopped at the end of row before a pen full of golden lab puppies, the adorable things scrambling and tripping over each other in their excitement, and sighed.

It hadn't been his idea to come here; it had been his friends'. They had all agreed, without his input, naturally, that if he wouldn't find himself a nice girlfriend, then he should at least get a dog to fill his quiet apartment. (Actually, they had suggested a cat first but quickly scratched that, not wanting to be the ones who pushed their romantically challenged friend toward the crazy cat hoarder stage.) So, here he was, at the local shelter, looking for a likely loud and slobbery companion.

Horace wrinkled his nose and frowned at the puppies, thinking that maybe something so messy and energetic wouldn't a good decision for his quiet building with his neighbors,a sever and eternally grumpy lawyer next door, an easily triggered angry alcoholic across the hall and two doors down, plus several crotchety single elderly people, when a voice sounded from beside him.

"Can I help you?" it inquired, making Horace jump slightly as he turned his head to look at the volunteer. The young man was short-ish (at least to Horace, being a veritable giant himself) with dark, slightly unruly hair and a friendly smile. His name tag said "hello" and stated that his name was Will.

"Um, maybe," Horace replied, looking at the puppies again before returning his attention to Will. "I'm looking for a dog."

Will nodded, figuring as much. "Do you know what kind?" he asked, biting his lip thoughtfully when the big man shook his head. "Do you have any preferences? Big, small, housebroken?" On the last word he eyed the puppies, knowing for a fact that they were not in any degree housebroken.

Horace let out a wry laugh at housebroken, thinking. "Preferably housebroken. I guess I don't really care about size, but maybe something not too energetic or loud?"

Will hummed in thought, looking around for any prospects matching the vague criteria. "Then you'll probably want something older, at least past the puppy stage but older than that would be better. Usually the small dogs are more content with indoor exercise . . . ." He trailed off, noticing Horace's expression.

At the mention of small dogs, Horace couldn't help but think of the little chihuahuas bottle blonde celebrities carried around in their humongous purses, his face contorting into a look of displeasure.

"Yeah, I didn't really peg you as the teacup poodle kind of guy," Will said, laughing as he imagined this big, buff guy taking something roughly the size of his fist for a walk. "I think something like a lab or a German shepard is more your speed." With that, he lead Horace away from the puppies to a different wall lined with pens, all sporting larger dogs.

Will led him down the line, none of the dogs truly catching his attention until they cam across a pen that looked empty, until Horace took a closer look, finding a German shepard curled up in the back in a dark corner, behind a slanted ray of sunshine. He stepped toward the pen, trying to get better look at the dog, but the animal shifted, looking as is it were trying to disappear farther into the corner.

"That's Buttercup," Will said from beside him, his tone sorrowful. "We got her a few weeks ago. She's not usually noticed, hiding in that corner and even if she is, most people don't want an agoraphobic dog. I think she was probably abused in her previous home." Slowly and as gently as possible, he lifted the latch on the gate and let it swing open, shuffling in slowly. "She's gotten sort of use to me, but she's still skittish at the best of times," he said, his voice low and soothing as he crouched a couple feet from the dog, reaching his hand out toward her. "It's okay, sweetheart. It's just me, Will." He clicked his tongue softly and Buttercup timidly stretched her snout toward his fingers, sniffing at him. With a quiet whine she licked his hand in recognition. Will smiled and shuffled forward enough to stroke his hand over her head.

After a moment, Will looked at Horace, gesturing him in with a jerk of his head. Feeling a bit uncertain, Horace imitated the other, shuffling in slowly and quietly, hoping not to disturb the poor creature. He felt discouraged when she shrunk back into the corner, eyes wide with fear and distrust of this new person, but a smile from Will urged him farther in. He carefully crouched next to Will and extended his arm as the other had, patiently waiting for Buttercup to sniff him, which she did eventually, her warm nose brushing his hand accidentally.

After a good minute or two or acquainting herself with this new person's scent, she pulled her head back but didn't press back into the corner. She was obviously still wary, but a bit more at ease, even allowing Horace to stroke her soft head with only a slight flinch, causing both young men to smile.

"She can tell you're a gentle giant," Will joked with a grin, glad to see Buttercup progressing so well with a stranger. Horace snorted at the comment, rolling his eyes as he smiled, elated that such a reclusive animal seemed to trust him right off the bat.

After a moment of silence, Will spoke again. "So, do you think she'll be a good fit?"

* * *

A month later found Horace waking up to a heavy, furry presence curled against his side, blinking blearily at the alarm clock next to his bed. 8:23. He groaned and threw an arm over his eyes some what dramatically. Will would be here soon, the damned energetic morning person that he was, to see Buttercup.

And sure enough, just as Horace was about to drift back off, Buttercup tensed and shot up beside him, looking through the open bedroom door toward the main room where even he could hear the key rattle in the lock.

The day Horace adopted Buttercup, Will had insisted (demanded) that Horace keep him updated on the dog he had grown so attached to. Horace had agreed happily, the two exchanging contact information. He really didn't mind keeping the young man posted on Buttercup's well being. However, he did mind being woken up at the wee hours of the morning (anytime before ten) by pounding on the door and/or constant ringing from his phone (Will apparently liked to stop by before heading off to his first class at ten). Eventually, Horace had just given the guy his own key.

Horace decided to pretend he was asleep (maybe he would actually fall back asleep) as Buttercup jumped from the bed, barking happily at one of the only people she wasn't terrified of. He was content to let Will deal with the irritated neighbors as his body decided more sleep was needed.

* * *

Sorry I haven't updated in a about a week and a half. Things have just been . . . horrible. One of my best friends' grandma just died of cancer this past weekend and she is so torn up over it. I've been trying to help her (she's always leaned heavily on me for comfort and advice) but it's hard to be a support for her right now. We're still trying to get things settled, I'm still trying to catch up on all my missed school and things have just been over all, bad. Today I just kind of . . . broke. Though not entirely because of my mom (I had that break down last Tuesday). It's been more a combination of things that broke the dam. I'm just so tired of everything right now. I wish life would just pause long enough for me to collect myself because no matter how much I don't want it to, life is moving on and starting to leave me behind. I just need like a twenty-four hour pause so I can pull myself together and find some sort of peace of mind to hold my self together effectively.


	23. Consecrate

The word was consecrate. So I hope you enjoy this one. I based it off a little detail from the Seven Realms series by Lucinda Chima Williams (which is good, by the by, if anyone is looking for a new read).

* * *

It was a family tradition consecrated by the passing of time that ordained who he loved. Well, at least it should have. Maybe then things would have been easier.

As the son of the Captain of the Royal Guard, Horace should have by right been in love with the princess, just as his father had loved the queen. For centuries most of the men, and even a few women, had held the highly respected position as Captain of the royal family's guard. And for centuries those captains had been hopelessly in love with the one they swore on their life to protect. His father had loved the queen, his great-grandfather had loved a princess and even his many greats aunt had loved a queen herself. So by tradition he should have loved the princess heir, but he most certainly did not love Princess Cassandra.

Of course she was beautiful and fun to be around, but Horace didn't love her. No, he just had to go and fall in love with someone who's position was a lot less glamorous and a lot more dangerous. He just had to fall in love with a young ranger.

He didn't know when it had happened, only when the realization had hit him. For all he knew he could have been in love with the ranger for years, months or even only weeks. Hell, he may have even fallen in love the moment he realized he _was_ in love.

The memory was clear; it was summer, one of the hottest summers he had ever had the misfortune of experiencing, and as with any summer the season made training a veritable hell. Especially under their leather training gear. While training under a hot sun in their steel armor would be far past undesirable, training in the leather armor was just as bad. While it was lighter, it was just as hot and worse for the fact that it didn't _breathe_ and just repelled their own sweat back at them, making the leather itself disgustingly sticky.

Horace and the rest of the knights had taken a break from hacking soullessly at each other, mopping sweaty brows with already sweat soaked handkerchiefs and drowning their parched throats with cool water from the well when the young ranger and his then mentor walked by, headed for the castle for a counsel with the king. They had traded their heavier winter cloaks with lighter, cotton ones, the material flowing behind them as they walked against a warm breeze. They walked, especially the younger one, with a fluid, silent grace that Horace had only seen in two types of people: the alluring dark skinned dancing girls that traveled in the caravans and the mysterious rangers.

Now, the moment Horace realized he was in love with the then apprentice happened as the young ranger's gaze slid from the path ahead of him to the young knight's blue eyes. A jolt of electricity seemed to spark between them and Horace felt as if his heart had stopped just as his breath hitched, the air refusing to leave his lungs.

The realization hit him just as he was able to breathe in the sweet summer air again. He was was in love.

With a ranger.

A male one.

And his childhood friend.

Well, so much for tradition.

* * *

I'm sure you guys are tired of me apologizing, but I'm sorry this took so long. I've just been so swamped with _everything_ that I haven't had time to do anything recreational. School is kicking my ass as I'm still not caught up and the fact that it's crunch time for seniors is not helping. My teachers keep piling on tests and essays and books for us that I'm having trouble catching up with what I missed while staying caught up with the current assignments. Also, I got ER worthy injured again. This time I ended up with six stitches (woo!). What caused this trip to the ER, you might ask? Well, being a dishwasher, my area in the restaurant is plagued with super wet and slick floors. I was carry a stack of dishes, slipped and fell on them, ending up with several bruises, smaller lacerations and two large, jagged slices in my arm, right above my elbow.

In other, more exciting news, my friends decided to drag me out of the dark basement that is my cave and to the movies (thought they made me drive). We saw The Croods, which is really good. Dreamworks has really been impressing my this year. So if any of you are planning a night out to the movies, I suggest The Croods. Also, I'm getting a tattoo and I'm super excited! It's going to be a dragon.

Alright, so I now I bid you guys good night because I kind of sort of left my homework to write this instead, so back to reading about thirty pages of one book, twenty pages of another and conjugating Spanish verbs into the preterite tense.


	24. Broom

The word was broom. I had another idea that I started to write out, but scrapped. I like the concept of my first attempt, but I wasn't satisfied with any of the results. It was magical-verse, where Will is a warlock's apprentice studying magic. He is riding a broom and somehow ends up crashing into Horace, knocking the knight off his horse and effectively breaking his broom. I wrote out various situations where he would be riding a broom, but it all turned out like crap. But I still like the concept and I might work on elaborating on it this summer.

* * *

It was spring, when everything started to bloom. Splashes of color opened and spread across the green canvas of grass and trees after April storms and the sun seemed to shine brighter, eagerly welcoming the season.

On this fine spring day, Redmont high was holding its annual pre-Prom assembly. The student body would soon be showing off its finest as king, queen, prince and princess candidates. Students were already cheering for their friends as the candidates lined up.

But currently two students were absent from the roaring crowd.

Currently, on this ever so beautiful spring day, two students had tucked themselves away in a little used broom closet, having slipped away in the pre-assembly chaos.

Due to the limited space and their hormones telling them they were in love, the two stood close. Even then space was very limited. Every time they shifted, an elbow would knock into a dusty broom or a knee would bump into a low shelf, causing the two to giggle softly and shush the offender during the resulting clatter.

"You know," Will started after another bought of giggles caused by Horace knocking over faded bottles of some sort of cleaner. "We _should _be at the assembly, supporting Alyss. She is a queen candidate."

Horace groaned dramatically and let his head drop onto his boyfriend's shoulder, having to slouch a little more than slightly to do so. "Don't remind me," he pleaded. "Its all she talks about." He lifted his head and cocked his hips, resting his hands there. "'I'm the smartest, I'm the prettiest, I have to get it, blah, blah blah," he mocked, raising the pitch of his voice and sashaying his hips, sending Will into another fit of muffled giggles.

To keep himself from doubling over in laughter, Will leaned into Horace, gripping the larger teen's shirt. As for Horace, Will's laughter triggered his own and the two just stood, holding onto each other as they rode out the laughter.

"I see your point," Will finally said breathlessly as they calmed down, pulling back just enough to look up at Horace a smile. "She has gotten a bit annoying."

"A bit?" Horace said incredulously. "You should know better than anyone how bad she can get! _You_ were dating her last year when she ran for Homecoming queen. I'd rather . . . make out with that broom than go through _that._"

"Hm, the broom? Really?" Will said thoughtfully, standing on the tips of his toes as he slipped his arms around Horace's neck, bringing their faces close. "Wouldn't you rather just make out with me instead?"

Horace grinned, settling his arms around the slighter teen's waist. "I believe at the time I was," he replied. Will chuckled lightly, nodding.

"You were," he admitted, cheeks flushing red at the memory. He still felt a little flash of guilt, like he had been cheating. Of course he hadn't been, his and Horace's first kiss had been a few hours after his and Alyss's awkward break up. But the guilt still gnawed at him sometimes.

Horace, reading his boyfriend's mind through his eyes, decided to try for a distraction. "What do you say we continue the trend?" he murmured, resting their foreheads together. Will just grinned and pulled Horace the rest of the way down to his lips, definitely achieving distraction.

* * *

I don't even know how long its been since I updated. Things are still busy, life is monotonous and I've gotten addicted to Sherlock and Tumblr as well as fallen into the habit of drinking coffee around nine or ten at night to stay up later to get more work done on my senior project (I am restoring an old trunk, due next Tuesday). Consequently I've over slept by forty-ish minutes the past few days, but I am getting better at taking faster showers. Anyway, I'm going to bed now. Maybe I can wake up at my normal-ish time and avoid the school traffic rush in the morning. So, I bid you all a good night and sweet dreams.


	25. Stumble

Word was stumble. This one is shorter than some of the other more recent ones, but I'm not too unimpressed with it.

* * *

In all his seventeen year old brilliance, they only way he could describe life is that it _sucked._ Big time. You started out kicking and screaming and fighting for breath. Then you stumbled along with only vague instructions down a road you had the wrong map for.

Sometimes when you stumbled, you can't catch yourself and you end up crashing to the ground, without anyone to catch you.

In those instances, like when he found it his dad had died serving their country in Iraq, Will would grab his keys and get in his crapped out Oldsmobile he'd named Tug. He'd roll the windows down and drive faster than was safe down country roads, blaring music from the one station his radio was eternally stuck on. No matter that it would be raining, or freezing, or about 35 degrees and sleeting.

After a few hours and about a third or so of his gas tank, he'd find a place to park and curl up in the back seat, slowly drifting off into a troubled sleep.

The next morning Horace would always receive a short text from Will, stating where he was. The bigger teen would grumble to himself, but get up anyway, pull on pants and grab a couple of warm blankets before firing up his uncle's old Chevy. He'd then stop at some gas station, pick up hot coffee and box of soft doughnuts before tracking down the boy he'd had mixed feelings about since middle school.

When Horace found him, Will would climb slowly out of the back seat of his car, looking pale and broken, so unlike his usual vibrant, confident self, and the two would climb into the bed of the Chevy. They would wrap up together under the thick blankets and drink their coffee, occasionally taking a bite (or two, in Horace's case) out of a doughnut.

They would usually sit in silence, Horace knowing Will well enough to know that if he wanted to talk, he would; you just had to give him time. And Will, always glad for Horace's honest friendship and understanding company, would sometimes think that even though no one would catch you when you stumbled, someone would always be around to pick you back up.

* * *

So today I found out that I was voted best writer in my class and to be honest, that really stroked my ego. We aren't suppose to know about any of that until out senior banquet on May 10, but being on the school newspaper means I get to find out things sooner than everyone else. We needed the senior superlatives for the senior tab so our sponsor got a hold of them and, funny enough, I'm in charge of the superlatives, so I know who got voted what. But the bad part about this is I'm not suppose to tell anyone so can't really talk about to anyone but the other seniors on the newspaper staff. (But I think its safe to assume I can tell you guys.) One of my friends was voted most likely to change the world and I had to laugh at that because she is the laziest person I know.


	26. Crossing

The word was crossing. This is actually something a couple of friends and I did. My family owns a lake several acres big and one day two friends and I decided to walk the entire perimeter of the lake. We found the mouth of a creek bed and followed it. Eventually we climbed the side and continued around the lake. To do so we had to cross over the top of a couple creek beds using fallen trees. We didn't jump across, though, because most of the creek beds we came across were like fourteen feet across. It was fun though. One of my friends was absolutely terrified of crossing over the logs.

* * *

Horace looked from the approximately twelve foot deep creek bed to Will, raising his eyebrows in a you're-kidding-me manner. "You want us to cross _that_?" he asked, gesturing to the twisted tree that had fallen across the gap sometime ago.

Will grinned and nodded. "Of course. How else are we suppose to get across?" he asked rhetorically.

"Go around?" Horace suggested, eying the log again.

Will huffed a laugh, obviously getting some enjoyment out of the bigger teens discomfort. "Can't. This whole area of the woods is criss-crossed with deep creek beds. The only way through is across." He rolled his eyes at Horace's uncertain look. "Look, I'll go first. Clear away some of the branches. Show you how easy it is."

Spinning on his heel, he stepped over the tangle of roots at the base of the tree and crouched. He stretched his hands forward to touch the rough bark and crawled forward on the balls of his feet and hands at a fairly swift pace, breaking off the smaller branches as he went.

Horace watched him uncertainly. He knew Will could cross things like this with out a problem. He was in gymnastics and dance for Christ's sake! He was light footed and graceful. Horace, on the other hand, was more a football kind of guy. He was about as graceful as a bull in a china shop. He worried that the moment he tried to cross the ten foot or so gap, he'd instantly fall into the muddy creek bed below. While the fall wouldn't be too terribly far, it would still hurt.

Soon Will was on the other side, grinning and beckoning Horace onto the log. After a moment of hesitation, the tall teen ginger stepped onto the make-shift bridge, instantly dropping to his knees as a feeling of vertigo swept over him. He paused and took in a deep breath to steady himself before moving on, slowly crawling along the branch. Will called encouraging words and reassurances Horace's way.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, Horace was on the other side, lean but strong hands helping him to his feet. Will grinned up at him, amusement sparkling in his eyes. "See, that wasn't so bad, was it?" he asked.

Horace snorted and shoved past him. "Yeah, sure. Maybe not for the freaking_ gymnast_," he grumbled. "You probably could have jumped over the damned thing."

Will just laughed, the sound loud and contagious. Soon, despite his frustration, Horace was laughing too.

"Really, you probably could have," Horace said between chuckles, smiling at his friend.

Will gave him a thoughtful look, stroking an imaginary goatee. "Hm, maybe," he said softly, almost to himself. "Let's find out!" With that he backed up, carefully judging the distance between himself and the creek bed, all the while studying the gap for a place to launch himself from. Finding a spot where the gap was at it's narrowest, he took off at a run, hearing a surprised word of protest from Horace.

As he neared the gap, the muscles in his legs tensed as he readied himself for the jump. The moment his right foot hit the edge of the gap, he pushed off heard and leapt across the six foot space. He landed on the other side a little clumsily, his left foot sliding on the uncertain footing of the wet leaves left over from fall. He tumbled forward down a small hill and into the leaves, hearing an alarmed shout from Horace.

After a moment of righting himself, he jumped to his feet to find a concerned Horace making his way back across the log. When Horace looked up from his progress to find a slightly disheveled Will grinning and giving him a double thumbs up, he felt he really should just push the little ass into the creek bed.

* * *

Alright so tonight I kind of sort of broke my butt. Okay, not really, but it feels like it. I slipped on my stairs and fell down, landing right on my left hip/buttock. It really hurts to move it so I get to be doped up on ibuprofen! Woo! Fun times!


	27. Fearful

The word was fearful. I based this one loosely off of the show Supernatural, which I've been rewatching. Honestly, this one seems kind of disjointed and not too well structured, but I'm gonna blame it on me being sick.

I think this one turned out to be a good length and I'm fairly satisfied with it. I think tossing these guys into the Supernatural world is interesting. It might be one of those things I might elaborate on this summer.

* * *

The job could be down right fearful. You never knew if you'd make it to the next week, day or even hunt. You didn't know what you'd face next. But that was all a part of it.

Will Treaty was something of an adrenaline junky. You almost had to be to be able to stand it. And his uncle Halt, though he would never admit it, got a certain kick out of hunting down and wasting the things they did.

Because you see, Will and Halt are hunters. But not your average game or even bounty hunters. No. The things they hunt are much scarier and much deadlier. They things they hunt are the monsters your children see under the bed and in the closet, the eyes you feel watching you when you take that dark alley home after a couple drinks with the guys. They hunt the urban legends that only exist out of pure belief and they hunt the nightmares that you think only lurk in the darkest recesses of your subconscious.

So when Horace Altman found himself caught up in the mysterious murders of some of his college class mates, he found it hard to accept that all the imaginary monsters he had been taught could be vanquished with a little light and disbelief were real. He wanted answers to all his questions, so he sought out the attractive young man he had seen snooping suspiciously around the crime scene.

He found him in a local bar, his worn leather jacket tossed over the back of chair and his dark hair mussed where he had ran his fingers through it in frustration. He was flipping through an old leather bound journal, jotting down notes and making doodles on a sheet of note book paper with a half empty bottle of beer in front of him. Glancing around, Horace approached the young man, taking the seat next to him at the bar.

He ordered a beer and sat picking at the label, trying organize by priority what he wanted to ask the dark haired young man. Finally he cleared his throat and looked at the man next to him. "You know what's going on, don't you?" he asked.

The young man looked up, an eyebrow raised in question. "Excuse me?"

"You know what's going on," Horace repeated. "You know what happened to all those college kids; why they were murdered and what murdered them."

The young man searched his face for a while before saying anything, his expression skeptical. "And if I do?" he asked a in challenging manner, drawing himself up and straightening his back to seem a bit more in charge. Which, Horace though, was kind of hard. The guy was short anyway.

"Then I want to know. Everything."

The man laughed at this, going as far as to clutch his sides and almost fall out of his chair. "Dude, trust me, you don't want to know," he said, chuckling one last time before moving to go back to his notes.

Horace growled softly in frustration and grabbed his wrist to stop him, receiving a cold glare in return. "I want to know," he said softly, but forcefully.

"No, you don't," the other responded in a similar voice, yanking his wrist back forcefully.

Horace sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, pausing to contain some of the anger, frustration and even fear boiling up inside of him. "Look," he started, leaning in. "One of the people who died, his name was George. He was good friend of mine, we were in the same foster home for awhile. I just want to know what happened to him."

The young man searched his face again and sighed, running his hand through his hair again and only succeeding in making it stick up farther. "Fine," he conceded, flipping back through the journal. "I'm Will, by the way."

"Horace," the bigger male replied, scooting his chair closer to Will's. "So, what's going on?"

"We think it's a vengeful spirit," Will started, tapping at the page he had flipped to. Horace just raised an eyebrow at him, more questions filling his head, but he kept his mouth shut and let Will continue. "We don't know all the details yet, but as far as we can tell, its the ghost of some kid who died about ten years ago. "His name was . . . Connor Darbin," he said, checking his own notes. "But we don't know much more than that."

At the mention of the name, Horace felt his blood run cold. "I knew Connor," he said quietly, looking from the notes to Will and back. "He was Thomas' little brother. He broke his neck falling out of tree in their back yard." He looked to Will again, a little unnerved to find the young man on the edge of his chair with eyes wide, as if he were eager to learn more.

"What else can you tell me?" he asked when Horace stopped, the eagerness showing through in his voice.

Horace shook his head, a little more wary now. "Not much. I didn't hang around Thomas much. George did though and so did a lot of my class mates that were killed. After Connor died, they all just kind of . . . shut down for a while. At the slightest mention of Connor they'd flip out and tell you not to talk about him again." Will had stood now, shrugging on his jacket at gathering his notes and journal. "You don't think they had anything to do with his death, do you?" he asked as Will grabbed a napkin and jotted down his number.

"Of course I do," he said hurriedly, sliding the napkin toward Horace. "If you think of anything else, call me." And with that, he was out the door, dropping his pen and a couple of pages at he went.


	28. Constraint

Today it was constraint and I used it fairly loosely here. But oh well. This one is kind of . . . dark? That's not quite the word I want to use, but its close enough. This is one I kind of want to elaborate on too; there are already ideas swimming around my head. Man, I'm going to have a tough time choosing writing projects for this fandom this summer.

* * *

As it was known, if only by those close enough to be called his friends, Horace had a fear of small spaces. Claustrophobia, if you would. So, as one could imagine, when he woke up in a small, damp cell, lit only by the uncertain flicker of a torch some meters away, he nearly had a panic attack.

To try and abate the feeling of certain panic from completely wrapping its cold fingers around his racing heart, he crouched in the lightest corner, near the bars and facing the light, and tucked his head between his knees. He rocked slowly back and forth, taking in deep, shuddering breaths. While it didn't totally dissipate the feeling that the walls were slowly closing in on him, it did make him feel a bit more in control of his fear.

Once the looming panic receded, he decided to inspect the cell, maybe get a bearing on where he was. But there really wasn't much. The cell was about three meters in length and another three meters in width with stone walls and a dusty floor. He figured there must be a spring near by as water trickled slowly down one of the walls from a few cracks in the stone, giving life to a pale moss.

Eventually, he grew tired of inspecting every little aspect of the cell and instead settled down the soft moss to think about how he had ended up in the little cell.

He remembered riding out to Macindaw with Will. They had gotten word from Malcolm of Scotti raiders in the area. While not attacking the fortress itself, they attacked the outlying villages. The country folk had sought protection under Orman's men, but the force at Macindaw had not been strong enough to repel the raiders. The village refugees as well as the castles inhabitants were, for lack of a better word, trapped in the castle, the Scotti raiders making sure no one left alive. But Malcolm, with his own secret people, had been able to get a message back to Redmont, calling on Halt and Will for help. Halt had been busy with other affairs, but on request, Horace had gladly left with Will to save Macindaw once again.

But, it seemed, as luck would have it, they would be the ones who needed saving.

Speaking of which, where was Will? The thought gave Horace a sudden chilled feeling. Was he in a similar cell, thinking of a way to escape? Was he being interrogated or even tor-

He refused to let himself finish that thought, focusing instead on the sound voices and shuffling feet. They were definitely Scotti, by the rough lilt of their language. He couldn't make out what they were saying, as he didn't speak Pictish, but he did catch the word Araluen just before a pair of guards in the traditional plaid stopped outside his cell, shoving a lump of moldy bread and a cup of water through the bars before heading off, laughing at something.

Horace didn't touch the bread, but gratefully drank the water. He had to admit, he was hungry, but not moldy bread desperate yet.

As he settled back on the moss, trying to ignore the way the torch flickered, laying a new layer of darkness each time the light receded, his thoughts worriedly wandered back to Will. Surely the ranger the was alright. He could take care of himself. In fact, Horace would bet that right now he was pacing his own cell, devising a plan for their escape. Which, Horace decided, he should have a go at as well.

Some time later, when Horace had nearly dozed off, there came the rattling of an old iron lock and the creak of wet hinges as the Scotti opened a cell. After a moment of loud cursing a loud bang sounded, followed by the sound of something being dragged along the stone floor and more curses. The Scotti had taken a prisoner from a cell. Horace tried to peer around his bars at the poor devil, but the guards and prisoner were headed in the opposite direction of is cell. He did, however, manage to catch a glimpse of a dirty greyish greenish cloak and hear a low groan from the prisoner as they rounded a corner. It all made his blood run cold.

They did have Will, and they did have him in a cell. But the young ranger didn't seem in any condition to make plans. The knight fell to his knees next the bars, his hope starting to flicker uncertainly. No, he couldn't do that, couldn't give up hope. He had had to have faith in Will and in himself.

But all hope and faith fled from him when he heard a heart wrenching scream. It took all his self control not to kill himself by tearing through the iron bars of his cell.


	29. Hegira

The word was hegira, which is a journey undertaken to seek refuge away from a dangerous or undesirable environment. So, naturally, I end up writing something down right apocalyptic. I really like this concept too, although, this is a really rough draft.

* * *

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he muttered under his breath as he slipped around a corner and through a low hole in a crumbling wall. He paused on the other side, pressing himself flat against the wall as he listened intently for the crunch of heavy boots on debris. After a good ten minutes, he allowed himself a quiet sigh of relief and slid down the wall to rest for a moment. He had been certain the Reds had seen him, but something else must have caught their attention.

Finally, he pushed himself up and moved on, more cautious after that scare. He is Will Treaty and a refugee of the hostile Russian take over. They had attacked on July fourth, Independence Day, while most of America was preoccupied with fireworks and cook outs, swimming and pool side barbeques. They had timed their attack almost perfectly. The country's armed forces were still weakened after the war in the Middle East, with troops still deployed there and in Africa to help quell armed violence.

They had started by bombing major cities in a rushed attack; New York, Miami, Philadelphia, Detroit, New Orleans, Houston, St. Louis, Denver, Seattle, San Francisco. They had left the capital for last, wanting the country in a state of fear first. The president hadn't been killed, but several congressmen had been. That had been the first two days.

On the third day, ground troops had started to move in, storming the capital first now, as it was the most recently weakened. The president and his family had been ushered into hiding. Within a matter of weeks, Russia had almost completely taken over the United States, except for a few strongholds along the Canadian border and in the Rocky Mountains.

Right now, Will was making his way through the ruins of St. Louis, headed for a refugee camp on the Wisconson-Canadian border. He had been traveling for the past two days, through car clustered, broken up streets and crumbling buildings. So far he had avoided the Reds, the Russian ground patrols, but he wasn't so sure he could keep doing it. He was growing weary with the tension and paranoia that came from fleeing for your life.

He looked up at the sky, trying to look past the smoke from the still smoldering ruins to try and gauge the time of day. The way the light filtered through in an organish haze, he figured it was sunset. He gathered his jacket a little closer and looked around, trying to find a good place to settle down for the night. In the vicinity, there was a couple of collapsed in office buildings, an old apartment complex still mostly standing and a few crumbling shops. He decided to take his chances with the apartment complex.

Gingerly he stepped through the broken glass of the front door, his shoes crunching on the shards of glass inside. Carefully, slowly, he entered the lobby, taking the time to look for any possible threats. He was about to relax when a scuffling sound, followed by a curse, came from behind the front desk.

Quickly Will unslung his uncle's hunting bow and nocked an arrow, taking steady aim just above the counter.

"Who's there?" he called, sounding more confident than he felt. "Show yourself." Slowly, a large figure stood from behind the desk. From the dim light streaming in through the broken windows, Will could tell it was a young man, tall, athletic, probably about his own age. The man's hand was resting on the hilt of broadsword strapped to his back. _Odd weapon for a time like this,_ Will thought to himself before repeating, "Who are you?"

The other young man hesitated before answering, taking in the slightly built young man. "Horace Altman," he finally replied, releasing his grip on the sword as a sign of truce directed at Will. "And you are?"

Will hesitated as well. This Horace seemed trustworthy, but one could never be sure nowadays. "Will. Will Treaty," he said finally, lowering his bow in the same sign of truce.

* * *

Okay, so I'm trying to decide on a writing project for the summer for Horace/Will and I want your guys' input. I either want to elaborate on what I wrote for Dishonor and Resplendence (chaps. 19 and 20), the alternate idea I had for Broom (24), Constraint (28) or this one. Right now I leaning toward either Constraint or this one. What would you guys rather read?


	30. Torture

The word was torture so I decided to continue with the theme from Constraint. I apologize that this one is so short, but hopefully I can make it up to you guys soon. I am currently working on consecutive multi-chapter fics. I couldn't decide between Hegira and Constraint so I'm working on fics for both. I'm not sure how exactly its all going to work out, seeing as I have a busy summer a head of me. For one I keep setting all these projects for myself, like these fics. For instance, I'm also restoring another trunk, I've decided I want to do the whole 1000 paper cranes thing and my summer reading list is rather extensive. Not to mention I have work (about 20-25 hours a week right now) and I'm volunteering at a local music and arts summer camp for elementary school kids. But I'm going to try to have something up for one of them by Thursday or Friday.

Also, paisley 15, I _am_ working on your request from awhile (it feels like forever!) ago. Don't think I've forgotten!

And (I know this a ridiculously long note, but bear with me) I have a long over due thank you to say. I really and truly want to thank everyone who is reading this and who have been encouraging me to continue this little project. I also want to thank all of you who where a big support to me when my mom died, especially spazzyninjafish. I know I've thanked you already, but I'm doing it again. You really did help me and I am very grateful. If you ever need a friend (and this offer goes out to everyone) I'll be here.

Alright, now that I'm done with that (it was sappy, but I needed to do it!), I bid you all good night.

* * *

Horace huddled in his usual corner next to the bars, knees drawn to his chest and face buried in his knees. His arms were thrown over his head as he tried desperately to curl in on himself and disappear. For days now he had been trapped in that cell, forced to listen to the pained screams of his friend.

The first day it had happened, he had reacted with anger, throwing himself at bars, trying to rip them open. He shouted death threats to all responsible for Will's pain, promising them a slow and painful demise. But as the week wore on, his anger had receded into an emotional pain, his heart wrenching painfully with each scream. He was thankful, however, that the sessions never lasted more than an hour.

But huddling in that cell gave him time to think, which in his opinion was a horrible thing. His mind would always wander to what exactly they were doing to Will, which would only rekindle his initial anger, the emotion he shouldn't have allowed himself to set loose those first few days. He knew it was out of character and more than that probably gave their captors a sort of satisfaction. But it had been hard to contain, after all Will was his best friend and bravest person he knew. Not mention that he had found himself falling head over heels for the ranger.

And that made it hurt all the more. The person he loved – was _in_ love with – was being tortured and he could do nothing to stop it. He doubted any physical torture could hurt worse than that.


	31. Respectable

"_Will," Pauline started when her nephew answered the phone, not giving him a chance to greet her. "We need to talk."_

"_Okay," he answered slowly, apprehensive, mind racing to figure out and prepare for the topic she wanted to discuss._

"_Your uncle and I are worried about the type of people you've been involved with," she said, her voice overly sweet and parental. To Will she just sounded overbearing._

"_What do you mean?" he asked, knowing full well she meant Thanksgiving when his boyfriend at the time had been dragged kicking and shouting from their house by a police officer for possession and trafficking of illegal drugs._

"_You know what I mean," had been her answer and Will swore under his breath._

"_Look, Pauline" he started, sighing in frustration. "I didn't _know_ about the drugs; I told you that before. When I met him he seemed perfectly nice and whenever I saw his friends, they did too."_

"_I know," she replied, returning the sigh. "I know. But you _must_ be more careful, Will. Remember the one you dated in high school. What was his name—Alda?" Will offered no comment, just let her continue, clenching his jaw at the mention. "He started to abuse you. Then there was that one last year. He was convicted of raping that girl."_

"_I know," he said softly after a beat of silence. He knew Pauline was just worried, but he couldn't help the want to just hung up and forget about the conversation._

"_Will," she started again, her voice soft. "I know you don't want to hear any of this; I was your age once. But you really must be more careful. Take your time if you must but make sure any other boys that catch your attention are respectable, please."_

_He responded with a quite, "I will," and said a quick good bye before hanging up, missing Pauline's "I just want you to be happy."_

* * *

Entering the coffee shop, hands shoved in his pockets and jacket collar turned up against the chilly wind and rain, Will made straight for his usual corner table. He huffed as he over dramatically threw himself into the chair, pulling off his now soaked knit cap and scarf and tossing them into the next seat.

He thought back to his earlier talk with Pauline and his frustration grew. He _knew_ he needed be more careful about dating but really those past three had seemed like perfectly nice, morally sound guys in the weeks preceding the romantic relationships. It had only been a month or so into dating that their true colors were revealed.

With a groan, he leaned back in the chair and scrubbed his hands over his face. He really didn't want to think about it all right know. In fact, he never wanted to think about it again. He just wanted to forget it all and start over, start clean, with a new _respectable_ boyfriend and—

"You look like you need this," a voice said, pulling Will from his thoughts. He peered over his fingers at a young man, probably his age, in a lightly stained white apron holding out a disposable coffee cup. He could just barely see the edge of his name scrawled in Alyss' neat script down the side of the cup. Looking past the man to the counter he spotted her; she was leaning on the counter watching them. She smiled and winked at him and Will just knew she probably playing match maker. With an internal groan, he pushed the thought aside and looked back at the man, sitting up and taking the coffee, muttering a "yeah, thanks" as he took a sip of the sweet black brew. He sighed in contentment before addressing the man.

"Alyss send you over?" he asked and the young man grinned sheepishly.

"Yeah," he replied. "She just handed me the coffee, pointed you out and said something about you wallowing in misery and how you needed an attractive man to cheer you up."

Will rolled his eyes and scoffed into his coffee, but silently offered the man a seat by pushing the chair across from him out with his foot. The place wasn't busy and the guy really was attractive. "Well, then getting to cheering up, Mr Attractive Man."

Mr Attractive Man laughed and took the offered seat. "My name's Horace," he said, leaning his elbows onto the table. "And how should I go about cheering you up?"

_By being _respectable _and then dating me so I can prove to my aunt and uncle that I don't have bad taste in men, _he thought but said shrugged and said, "I don't know, tell me a joke or something."

Horace nodded and bit his lip in thought. After a moment he spoke. "Ask me if we have an crackers."

Will raised an eyebrow but did as told. "Do we have any crackers?" he asked, wary of the grin on Horace's face.

"No! We be crackalackin!" Horace replied and Will just stared at him a moment before he burst into laughter, having to put his coffee down before it spilled.

"Oh my god!" he gasped between giggles. "That was _the _lamest joke I've ever heard!"

"But it cheered you up, didn't it?" Horace responded, grinning triumphantly. Will found he couldn't argue against that.

"Do you know any other lame jokes?" he asked.

"Oh, plenty," Horace said, glancing at the door as more customers shuffled in. "And I'd be happy to tell them to you. Maybe over dinner sometime?" he asked and Will thought he heard something hopeful in his voice.

"Sure," Will smiled as he leaned over the table and grabbed the sharpie hooked on the front of Horace's apron as well his hand. "I'd like that," he said as he scribbled his name and number on Horace's forearm.

* * *

Hey guys, I'm sorry I kind of disappeared. I've been busy with work and getting things worked out for school and I've been so tired and I've had writer's block and things have just been blah. But hopefully I'll be able to post a bit more frequently, though I think I'll be ending this soon. But also hopefully I'll start up another project for you guys (possibly one of those multi chapter fics I promised a while ago).

Anyway, I apologize again and I bid you guys good night.


	32. Exult

Horace enjoyed being in a relationship. While he certainly liked the kissing, the cuddling, the creative dates and having someone to love and love him back, what was most enjoyable was _who_ the relationship was with.

In the past he had had a few girlfriends, all of them nice, pretty and fun. But currently his affections lay with Will Treaty, something his most recent ex-girlfriend was still bitter over, despite it having been months since he and Will had started dating. And while Cassandra still tried to make him feel guilt about it, he couldn't bring himself to regret it; he was just too happy.

Now, it was certainly all so cliché. The two had been best friends since preschool, falling into a comfortable routine of inside jokes and Saturday night traditions, and Horace had been certain it would continue on that route till the day they both died—the more testosterone filled version of a BFF. But that had all changed the day Horace saw Will for, well, _Will_.

It had about five months back, in December. It was a Saturday, around New Year's,Horace's uncle was out of the house for the day and Will had been bound for Horace's for a Lord of the Rings movie marathon. Horace had taken a shower that morning, not expecting Will to arrive as soon as did. By the time Horace had finished, his phone had been filled with texts and missed phone calls from Will. The messages ranged anywhere from a simple "here" to "please let me in now its cold" to "OPEN THE DOOR YOU FUCKER BEFORE YOU HAVE TO CHIP ME OFF THE SIDEWALK AND MY GHOST SEEKS VENGANCE ON YOUR GRANCHILDRED."

When Horace had finally pulled on a pair of sweats and shirt and opened the front door, he froze, and not from the cold. While he knew Will hadn't changed, everything suddenly seemed so very different.

Will looked the same as ever, if not a bit miffed at being left out in the cold. His messy brown hair poked out from under his knit cap, his ridiculously long scarf was wound around his neck and lower face and his nose and cheek bones were a bright, rosy red from where the wind had nipped at him. He certainly looked like the same old Will, but it was like he was being shone in a new light.

When Horace hadn't moved from the doorway in his appraisal of his friend, Will huffed and pushed past him, kicking off his boots and shedding his coat and accessories in the entry way. He had made his way to the living room where he wrapped himself in a warm fleece blanket as Horace slowly followed, unable to figure out how Will looked so different yet so similar. Eventually he had pushed it form his mind, focusing instead on the movie.

It was a couple weeks after that that Horace had started exploring the difference in Will and the familiarly foreign feeling that came with it. It was another month from that before he started exploring his new found romantic interest in Will publicly and yet another two weeks before Horace accepted Will's awkward offer of a date. He certainly didn't regret that.

Even now, sitting in precalc, with Will stonily avoiding his gaze because of some stupid argument that Horace couldn't even remember, he didn't regret it.

And when Will when four hours away for college, forcing them into a long distance relationship, he wouldn't regret it. Or when Horace would propose during winter break of their junior year and Will would say no, claiming their lives were too unsettled, he wouldn't regret it, despite the feeling of dejection. And when Will would propose to Horace nearly two years after graduation, regret would be the farthest from his mind. In fact, he would probably be jumping for joy.

But for now, he content with waiting for Will to forgive him. The closest thing to regret he knew was the absence of Will's pinky entwined with his across the aisle. The closest thing to joy he knew was the promise of plenty of kisses after school offered by the glance Will finally sent his way.

* * *

The word was exult, which pretty much means to jump for joy. This one is pretty wired for me; I kept changing tense through out it, from past to present to future and I think it might be a tad confusing (hell, it is for me) but I couldn't really find another way to write that I liked.

Also, I'm posting this on my brand-spanking-new laptop! I can barely fathom how exited I am!


End file.
